How they do blaze! I wonder why
They keep them on the ground.
At first I caught hold of the wing,
And kept away; but Mr. Thing-
umbob, the prompter man,
Gave with his hand my chaise a shove,
And said, "Go on, my pretty love,
Speak to 'em, little Nan.
"You've only got to curtsey, whisp-
er, hold your chin up, laugh and lisp,